


Cash on the Nail

by SegaBarrett



Category: Jesus Christ Superstar (1973)
Genre: 2000 Movie, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 18:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caiaphas' thoughts before the crucifixion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cash on the Nail

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own JCS and I make no money from this. Includes some lyrics from JCS.
> 
> A/N: Wrote this a long time ago, about ten years or so, when I was around 14. Therefore, my later stuff is probably a lot better. But I liked this one as well as my other JCS fics, so here they are, for your... enjoyment?

Dark, dark... The house seemed so very dark as I entered it on this date of all dates that I would remember until the day I died. I smoothed down my hair and attempted frailly to look as uncaring and composed as possible. I turned to the figure, half hidden by the blanket of darkness I needed, I enjoyed day by day. If I didn't see things, I did not have to realize they were there.

The prisoner. Through the dark, I could see one lock of light colored hair, tossed carelessly to the side of his face by the hasty manner in which he had been thrown into the chair on the far side of the table. I had arrived a few moments late. High priests can afford to be late.

"Jesus, you must realize, the serious charges facing you," I said to him, looking him straight in the eye with all the hatred I could muster. Such a rush of hate, love, and something I didn't understand. Love? Why? How did that make sense? Bad choice of words. More like pity, perhaps. I had witnessed his so-called "friend" sell his ass out for thirty pieces of silver and a few moments of glory. Hah. I snorted. This man deserved my pity, perhaps. But he also deserved my contempt. Followers! He had so many followers that fell to his feet in love and adoration, it almost made me want to do the same. But this man - he had everything I never could. Everything I ever wanted.

And why? I had tried so hard to be just, but it never worked. I had so often been denied the few things I desired that I could find no pity in my heart for this man who had everything. He doesn't even realize it, I hissed to myself. He doesn't realize what he has.

"You say you're the Son of God, in all your handouts, well is it true?" I snapped, walking over to him and looking him straight in the eyes with a glare.

"That's what you say, you say that I am," he replied. The prisoner said this with defiance, yes, but also with fear. Oh, Caiaphas, what have you done?, I thought. I've done it again, my fault. And now I can't stop it. I and that sniveling follower of his... We're not as different as I wish... Annas took up the lead.

"There you have it, gentlemen. What more evidence do we need? Judas, thank you for the victim. Stay awhile and you'll see it bleed!" As they dragged him off towards Pilate, I tried to meet his eye again. I could not. After he had been sent to Pilate and Herod, I watched him being led into a cell by Roman soldiers.

"I'm sure you're enjoying this, aren't you, you sick bastard?" hissed a voice from behind me. A young, attractive, dark-skinned woman stood behind me, her face streaked with tears.

"No," I replied, "I... don't know..." It was all so quiet I doubt she heard me. She ran off, sobbing. What have I done? I thought I was doing what was best for a nation! But was I really only doing what I thought was best for myself? Oh, what to do? I couldn't show how I really felt. This was not how a high priest acted. I would not watch this. I turned and pivoted, as the blond-haired, blue-eyed prisoner met my gaze. I turned my head away. I couldn't.

Twenty minutes later, we were back at Pilate's court.

"We need him crucified," I said matter-of-factly as Pilate's eyes darted around, obviously searching for some other way out of his dilemma. He couldn't find one. He began to plead with his eyes. Ahh, Pilate. What a little puppet, a puppy dog. "It's all you have to do." I met Annas' eyes, mine fiery and hateful. I was being who I had to be. Pilate pled and blubbered and begged for the prisoner's life - hell, you'd think HE was the one on trial. But the public, haha, the public... They made the decision for him. As always. Pilate, Pilate, Pilate. Tsk-tsk.

Finally, the soldiers cuffed the prisoner and dragged him off. I pivoted and walked off to the local coffee joint. As I approached the counter, prepared to forget all about that damned man, his hair, and his eyes, and those mindless followers, I heard a voice.

"Joseph!" I turned. Only one person ever called me Joseph.

"Scotina!" I called to my wife. Tall and shapely, with light skin and black hair, the daughter of Annas turned and smirked at me.

"Why are you here, darling? Don't you want to watch the execution?"

"No, Scotina, I can do without it. It's starting to get me freaked out."

"Only because you waited so long," she snapped.

"He was innocent," I said, acknowledging the fact for the first time.

"He was a blasphemer, Joseph, and you're a spineless idiot. Are you a man? Or just some cowardly nitwit who stumbled into the position of high priest? Truly high, the Roman who let you stay in must have been high at the time."

"I'm doing the best I can, Scotina, I'm doing the best I can."

"Your best, Joseph, isn't good enough. You're a high priest. High priests don't run off to Starbucks when they're upset. They swallow it and act like a man. Watch him die, Joseph. It will make you stronger."

"Know your place!" I snapped. I wasn't a sexist, I just wanted her to shut up for once.

"You're going to control me, Joseph? I highly doubt it. You can't even control yourself." With that, she huffed, pivoted and walked out. I sighed. I guess she's right, I though. I walked back towards the spot where the news vans were parked. CNN. Fox News. MSNBC. The left and right wings together again to swoop down as a vulture upon an innocent man and pluck his entrails without thought or care. I saw Judas Iscariot crying as the man carried his cross. I saw the disciple (that was what they were called) run, run far away. A few moments later, I felt Annas behind me.

"Caiaphas, are you okay?" he asked. "I wondered where you'd gotten off to. You missed the amenities." He began to smile and stopped when he saw the discomfort in my eyes.

"You!" yelled a voice. It was Judas Iscariot. His face was strewn with tears, as the woman's had been. "You promised not to hurt him, and look at him! Beaten, whipped, and sent on his way to be crucified! I never wanted this! Take back your money! Save his life!" Inside me something yelled, This is it, Caiaphas. Your chance. Save him - save him. That woman, she yelled, "Caiaphas, save him!" My children, Elizabeth and Abigail and Joshua, Joshua with the same first name as the condemned, called in their voices, telling me to save him, please, don't let him die. Even my wife, Scotina, called in some way for me to REALLY show I was a man, to stop what was set.

"Annas?" I asked. He seemed pleased at being given the opportunity to address the Zealot from Kerioth.

"We have no want or need of this silver anymore, Judas Iscariot. It's blood money. I certainly wouldn't stain our temple treasury with it."

"Then buy something with it! Please! Save his life!"

"We're not the ones who sold him out," replied Annas coolly, "You are. If you want forgiveness, ask him yourself. Run now and you'll get there before they nail him to the cross." I personally thought Annas had been rather cruel, but who cares? He shouldn't have come asking us to undo his betrayal. We're priests, not time travelers. Tears welled up in the young man's eyes and he threw the silver at us, hissing. He ran, never looking back, loud sobs still audible even when he had left our sight. I lowered my eyes to the ground. Annas began to walk. I followed him.

We made our way to the top of the steps, where the cross was being set up. Now that I was close to the condemned, I could see a crown of thorns placed on his head. This had gone too far. I had wanted him dead, not tortured. I looked at Annas. Were the same thoughts racing through his brain? No one here showed sympathy for the Galilean, save for that woman I had seen before. I thought she looked familiar from another time before, as well. She looked almost like one of the women who walked the streets in Jerusalem. Wow, this man had interesting friends. Hah. Had. I'd already begun talking about him in the past tense.

Another man approached the woman. Her boyfriend, perhaps? He was also darkly complected (as was I, for the record. Annas, on the other hand, was very light.), standing an inch or two taller than the woman.

"Mary," he said, "Judas has hanged himself." She nodded and sighed. I looked down at the ground. How could one man affect so many others? Was this a bad idea? Would my longing to exert my authority launch into action a domino effect which I could never undo? The priests and Roman soldiers laughed as they positioned the nails on the condemned's wrists and ankles, laughed as they hoisted him into the air. This created an image I would bear forever. They would laugh if that were me, I thought, except his followers would laugh with them.

I turned and muttered, "Please, just die already." The other priests, and the soldiers, began to mock him. "I've got things to do," I said quickly to Annas. I turned and walked away from the man on the cross.

A voice yelled, "Don't you want to watch what you've done?"

When I was out of sight of everyone, I quickened my pace. When I arrived at my home, I threw myself on my bed and shut my eyes. He would be dead soon, dead and forgotten and gone. And I could go back to my life, like it was before that man came and screwed it up. A man, just like everyone else. He would die. I closed my eyes and slept.


End file.
